


A Study in Service.

by BarPurple



Category: Gosford Park (2001), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consulting Detective!John, Footman!Sherlock, Gen, Job Change AU, Time Change AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1589501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1932. A weekend shooting party is being held at Gosford Park. Upstairs and Downstairs secrets are being kept, but all second footman Sherlock is worried about is making a good impression on the man he is acting as valet for; one Captain John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Service.

**Author's Note:**

> I own neither Sherlock or Gosford Park. I just decided to mix them together to see what would happen. This is not a crossover as such, I've simply inserted Sherlock and John into the story of Gosford Park.

The kitchen corridor was in chaos. Trunks were piled everywhere with visiting maids and valets fussing over them trying to ensure nothing was sent to the wrong rooms. Clipboard in hand Mrs Wilson imposed some order on the chaos, but she was resigned to the fact that true order was impossible until the luggage was dealt with. After pointing Lord Stockbridge’s valet to the gun room she managed to catch Jennings eye.

“Mr Jennings? A moment please.”

“Mrs Wilson, everything appears to be running smoothly.”

“As well as can be expected, there is one slight hitch I need to discuss with you.”

Jennings raised a curious eyebrow and waited for the housekeeper to continue.

“Captain Watson doesn’t have a man with him.”

Jennings rolled his eyes. The number of guests this weekend who had arrived without servants was ridiculous; the house staff were already working double duty. Mrs Wilson raised her hand to forestall his comment.

“I know we’re stretched, so I was wondering if Sherlock could take care of the Captain.”

The breath Jennings hissed through his teeth said more than words could about his opinion on this suggestion. The problem was he could see no other solution.

“Needs must I suppose. I’ll make it very clear to him that thing is his last chance; anything less than perfect behaviour and he’s gone.”

 

\--{}—

 

Jennings found his problematic second footman in the dining room. The butler paused inside the doorway and watched the young man about his work for a moment. Some cruel twist of breeding had given Sherlock an aristocratic handsomeness that meant he looked more of a gentleman than many of the guests. Jennings knew very little about the young man’s background other than his mother was a schoolmistress. Privately the butler suspected than she was to blame for the footman’s pride in his intelligence. Clearing his throat Jennings moved towards the table. He bristled a little as he saw that Sherlock was not using the ruler to ensure the setting were perfect. The young man turned towards the butler as he spoke;

“Sherlock, Captain Watson does not have a man with him. You will be serving as his valet for the duration of the weekend.”

The footman simply nodded and placed the glass he had been polishing on the table. Jennings picked up the ruler and measured its placement from the table edge. It was perfect, but for the look of the thing Jennings moved the glass an infinitesimal amount. He felt Sherlock tense next to him.

“I wouldn’t normally allow you to take care of a guest, but we are rather stretched this weekend. You understand that any misbehaviour on your part will result in your dismissal without papers.”

“I understand Mr Jennings. I’m finished here so I shall attend to the Captain now.”

With that the footman took his tray and polishing cloths and left the dining room. Jennings waited until he was defiantly gone before nudging the glass he had moved back to its original place.

 

\--{}—

 

Sherlock knocked on the door of the Green Bedroom. As he waited for permission to enter he considered the butler’s warning. He had the distinct impression that no matter how well he behaved this weekend Jennings would dismiss him. He put those thoughts to the back of his mind as he heard movement on the other side of the door.

Captain Watson opened the bedroom door with a towel slung around his neck. The soap on his face confirmed that he was half way through shaving. Sherlock’s heart sank a little; shaving the gentleman was part of his duties as temporary valet.

“Good evening Captain. I’m Sherlock. I’m to serve as your valet this weekend.”

“Ah, oh very well. Come on in Sherlock.”

The Captain appeared surprised that a man would be provided for him. Sherlock wondered how many weekend parties the former army man had attended.

“Shall I finish shaving you, sir?”

Sherlock held out his hand for the engraved straight razor the Captain was holding. He was confused when the Captain pulled his hand back.

“No offense, but I don’t trust other people with blades need my throat. Hang up from my army days I’m afraid.”

Sherlock inclined his head in understanding, but his disappointment must have shown as the Captain said;

“I realise shaving yourself isn’t the done thing. I can’t imagine anyone will mention it, but if they do I’m going to say you did it for me.”

“Why would you do that, sir?”

“I’m a fish out of water here. So anything to keep up appearances has got to help, don’t you think?”

A small smile played across Sherlock’s face. There was something he rather liked about this man.

“I expect you will do fine, sir. Society expects former army men to have a few rough edges.”

“Ha-ha, wonderful. Right, I’ll finish off here. Do you think you could make my jacket fit for company?”

The two men went about their tasks in easy silence. Once the Captain had finished shaving Sherlock helped him on with his jacket and brushed a little lint off the shoulders. The footman noticed the slightest flinch as he smoothed the left shoulder into place. Captain Watson turned to face Sherlock and asked;

“Will I do?”

“Very presentable, sir.”

“Anything I should avoid talking about at dinner?”

“I wouldn’t mention that you’re a doctor to Lady Trentham, or she’ll be asking your advice on all manner of ailments.”

Captain Watson’s eyebrows quirked up and he tilted his head to one side.

“What makes you think I’m a doctor?”

“Your razor is engraved with the RAMC crest.”

“You noticed that? What else have you observed about me?”

“You have a wound in your left shoulder, which is most likely the reason for your discharge from the army. You don’t employ a valet, but there is someone at home who takes care of your clothing. I suspect a maiden aunt as you don’t wear a wedding ring. There is a slight tremble to your left hand which occurs when you are under stress as you are now because of your apprehension about dinner. I really wouldn’t worry about making a good impression. They are likely to find something to niggle at about you simply because you are Mr Novello’s guest.”

Sherlock’s brain caught up with his last sentence and cringed slightly. That sort of observation was likely to get him fired. He waited for the reprimand from the Captain.

“Ha-ha. That was amazing. You only got one thing wrong.”

Sherlock frowned.

“The woman who takes care of my clothes is my landlady, not my aunt.”

“There’s always something.”

The Captain clapped his hands together and took a deep breath.

“Right, into the breach.”

 

\--{}—

 

Sherlock was pleased to see that the Captain held his own at dinner. The ladies were charmed with him and the men were pleased by that as it relived them from having to pay attention to their own wives. 

The next few days were the happiest Sherlock had ever had in service. Captain Watson was not a demanding man and was happy to chat with Sherlock about the dynamics of the household. The footman found himself experiencing a glimmer of pride when he overheard the beaters complimenting the Captain after the shoot. Apparently the man’s guns were beautifully cared for and he was a crack shot. The beaters hadn’t had to subtly break the neck on any of the Captain’s birds. 

The weekend was going wonderfully until the Baronet was murdered.

 

\--{}—

 

It was at dinner the evening after the murder that any hopes Sherlock had of keeping his position died. He’d spend the day watching the idiot from Scotland Yard bumbling around failing to observe anything important, but it was the fake sorrow on display from the family at dinner that finally snapped his control.

“Oh, for pity’s sake you all hated him! Can’t you at least be honest about it now the bugger’s dead?”

The only sound in the dining room was the rattle of dropped silverware. Jennings looked fit to burst a blood vessel as Sherlock turn quickly on his heel and left the room. He didn’t see the appraising look Captain Watson gave him.

Sherlock was ordered to stay in his room by a furious Jennings. He would be allowed to leave once Inspector Thompson released them from his investigation. Jennings made it painfully clear that no references would be given. Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to his room.

 

\--{}--

 

By the middle of the next morning Sherlock was informed by the boot boy he was to vacate the premises. The boy had been told not to say anything else to him and despite Sherlock’s best efforts to discover Inspector Thompson’s conclusions the boy stayed tight lipped. With a weary sigh Sherlock picked up the carpet bag that held all his worldly possessions and left by the servant’s entrance.

He was rather surprised to find Captain Watson leaning against the wall just past the doorway. He was smoking a cigarette without a care in the world. Sherlock approached carefully not wanting to disturb the man. His efforts were in vain as Captain Watson spoke long before he could have possibly seen the ex-footman.

“You got your marching orders then lad.”

It wasn’t a question so Sherlock didn’t reply. Captain Watson turned to face him and offered him a cigarette. For a few moments they smoked in silence. Watson spoke first, idly addressing the tree tops.

“Thompson has concluded the murder was committed by a roaming burglar.”

Sherlock snorted.

“You think he’s wrong?”

“Yes and so do you.”

“True, but I’m not inclined to correct Thompson’s assumptions.” 

Watson took in Sherlock’s curious face and continued;

“I’m not normally happy to let a killer walk, but the Baronet was a deeply unpleasant man who had ruined enough lives. I don’t see the need for his death to ruin two more.”

“Two more, so you know he was poisoned before he was stabbed?”

“Yes. You mustn’t judge all of Scotland Yard based on Thompson. The man is a piss poor example of a detective.”

“Why do you care what I think of the Yard?”

“I may have understated my connection to Scotland Yard. I actually work rather closely with them in a consulting role.”

“An amateur sleuth.”

“Something like that. I’ve been on the lookout for an assistant, someone who sees more than most. Fancy the job?”

“I’m now homeless and have no employment prospects. Add to that the fact you know nothing of my history it seems a little reckless to be offering me a job.”

“I’m not just offering you a job. I’m offering you a place to live too. I imagine running around London after all manner of unsavoury types will be rather sedate after coping with the dramas of service, but I’m sure we can keep you busy.”

There was a wicked twinkle in Watson’s eyes and Sherlock found he’d already made his decision. There wasn’t anything to consider really. He held out his hand.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

The consulting detective grinned and clasped Sherlock’s hand.

“Captain John Watson. Back to Baker Street then.”


End file.
